


follow me home (pretend you found somebody to mend you)

by anneweaver



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, i don't even know why I'm posting this, this has absolutely no plot whatsoever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:56:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5746405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneweaver/pseuds/anneweaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Follow me?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper, but instead of waiting for his answer, she just walks past him.<br/>He turns around and looks at her. She hasn’t stopped.<br/>He follows her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	follow me home (pretend you found somebody to mend you)

The dimly lit hallways of the Playground are deserted and mostly silent, the only sound now coming from their heavy breathing as they stand in front of each other, only a few steps keeping them apart. They stare at one another, wordlessly, their stances less and less imposing as the seconds pass; the echoes of their shouting match still ring in the hallways and their ears.

It’s not the first and it won’t be the last time they try to tear at each other’s throats, but they both know this time is different. Their faces are flushed, their breaths are becoming heavier and the air is charged with something that doesn’t feel just like aggression and frustration.

Jemma looks down and takes a deep breath, as if she’s preparing for something but, before Fitz has time to wonder what she’s thinking about, she starts to walk, slowly making her way towards him. Once she’s next to him she brushes her hand against his, in a gesture that was most definitely intentional, then looks up at him from under her eyelashes.

“Follow me?” She asks, her voice barely above a whisper, but instead of waiting for his answer, she just walks past him.

He turns around and looks at her. She hasn’t stopped.

He follows her.

 -o-

Her room is completely dark and cold, but he feels like his insides are on fire. His body is pressed against hers, pinning her against the wall, one of her legs wrapped around his waist as he traces her jaw and neck with his lips, with his tongue, with his teeth. His hand is on the small of her back, pulling her closer, and with every little gasp coming out of her he tightens his grip on her shirt like the piece of fabric is a lifeline, like he might die if he doesn’t clutch at it.

He’s completely aware that this isn’t right, not right now, not when they still are… whatever they are; deep down he’s sure this is only going to screw up whatever mending they’ve been doing lately. But he also knows he could never resist her no matter how much he tries to convince himself that being apart from her is the right thing. She looks at him in that way and touches him in that way and he knows he would follow her to the ends of the Earth.

(Really, he would follow her to farther places for much less. He _has_.)

Her hand finds its way to his hair and she pulls softly, guiding his face back to hers so she can kiss him properly; their lips find each other’s and though her lips are as soft as he knows them to be, the way she kisses him is everything but. When she teases his lower lip with her tongue, he digs his nails to her thigh and she groans.

To his surprise, when she places a hand on his chest, she doesn’t immediately grip his shirt. She just touches him with her fingertips, close to where his heart is, and then leans her forehead against his, smiling.

“Your heart is racing,” she whispers, an inch away from his mouth, her eyes still closed, and her voice full of amazement. He smiles.

“I wonder why,” he deadpans, before closing the space between their lips.

“Hmm…” she says, after breaking the kiss, and looks at him from under her eyelashes again, a teasing smirk appearing on her lips. “I wonder what will happen if I try this.” She shifts the leg that was around his waist back to the floor, to steady herself, and then she moves the hand on his chest, painfully slowly, to the first button on his shirt, undoing it. Her index finger touches the exposed strip of skin and she slides it down until she finds the next button, undoing it too.

Once she’s finally done removing his shirt, after what felt like the longest minutes of his life, she moves her hand back to his chest, resting her palm against his heart. She giggles.

“It’s even faster,” she says, the joy evident in her voice. He places his own hand on top of hers and closes his fingers around her palm.

They stay like that, against a wall, hands linked together on his chest, for a while.

Then he kisses her again.

Her leg finds its way to his waist again, and he grabs her thigh to steady her and pull her close, causing her to brush against his very obvious erection. She freezes for a fleeting moment, breaking the kiss and looking at him wide-eyed. He mentally curses everything, and is about to let go of her leg when she speaks.

“Fitz?” she asks, innocently, and he thinks that if he weren’t so flushed already, his face would be beet red. _Fuck_.

“Uh…” he tries, but suddenly every ability to speak he has goes out the window when her hand, previously on his chest, slides down his torso and his back to make a sudden stop right in the curve of his ass.

She grabs him, nails digging into the flesh through the denim of his jeans, and pushes him even closer to her center, then grinds softly. He curses under his breath.

“Jemma,” he whispers, voice breaking, and she throws her head back when he grinds against her again. He nips at her collarbone, and her nails dig in deeper to his skin while she pulls his hair even harder with her other hand. A guttural groan escapes from his throat, and he bites her collarbone to keep from making any more sounds while they keep rocking together, faster and more desperate.

A few seconds later, she moves both of her hands away from their previous places and grabs his shoulders, unwrapping her leg from his waist again. Fitz stops what he’s doing.

“You okay?” he asks, confused by her sudden stop. She pecks him on the lips once, twice, and then smiles shakily, as if she’s unsure of what she’s about to say.

“Take me to bed?” she asks in response, making an evident effort to keep her voice steady and slightly sultry. His gaze drops to her lips, briefly, and then he looks her in the eyes, trying to search for any bad signs; instead, all he finds is certainty.

“Are you sure?” He asks, just for good measure, even though their bodies are still mostly pressed together and her hands are clutching at his shoulders.

“Fitz. I want you. Right now.” Her tone goes from insecure to demanding. “I know the timing is a bit off,” he snorts at that, and she smiles back, “but if you don’t make love to me right now I might explode. I _want_ you. In this way and in every way. So take me to bed.”

He nods, and licks his lips.

“Okay.” He whispers.

His hands fly to her thighs, then, and he picks her up. She lets out a surprised laugh but she wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, hands burying in his hair. He walks the few steps from the wall to her bed and drops her gently, as she lets go of him.

When she’s laying there, her hips and a good part of her bare abdomen fully exposed thanks to her shirt riding up, hair all rumpled and face flushed and lips swollen, looking at him with her radiant eyes, he decides he has never seen anything more breathtaking in his life. The energy that emerges from her, every single one of her breaths, the small drops of perspiration covering her body, it’s all inviting him in– it’s irresistible. She is irresistible.

They might be cursed, but right now he feels like he’s never been more blessed.

Jemma clears her throat.

“Are you just gonna stare at me the whole night?” she asks, teasing, and he shakes his head.

“No, it’s just… you’re beautiful,” he says, sincerely, and Jemma’s eyes seem brighter for a moment. She grins.

“Yeah, well, I’ll look even more beautiful with my clothes off. Come here,” she commands, and props herself up with one elbow, using her free arm to grab him by the collar and pull him on top of her. Their faces are inches apart, and their bodies are once again pressed together, when she smiles. “Hi,” she whispers. He snorts.

“Hi,” he whispers back.

“Kiss me?”

“As you wish,” he replies, closing the gap between their lips. Her legs are slightly open to accommodate him, but the entire thing already feels like it’s more than he can handle so instead of taking the bait, his hands go straight to the hem of her shirt. She realizes what he’s trying to do and sits, raising her arms so he can finally take her shirt off.

He can’t help himself; his gaze goes straight to her breasts, clad in a simple blue bra, and he freezes. Jemma notices, so she grabs his hand, currently resting next to her leg, and leisurely moves it up her abdomen until it’s resting on her ribcage for a few seconds. Then she moves it higher and moans. His eyes are still fixed on her chest.

“Do you need help with your other hand?” she asks, only half-teasing, and he shakes his head.

“I might need help with the bra, though,” he admits. She grins.

“I got it,” she says, immediately moving to unclasp her bra and discard it so the upper part of her body is now completely naked. His breath hitches and his free hand reaches for her chest, first only touching with the tip of his fingertips and then, as his confidence grows, caressing and fondling and later, kissing.

Her back arches in pleasure when his mouth finds her nipple, his tongue circling around it and his lips suctioning as his hands grip her waist. In their current position it’s not hard for her to, once again, wrap both of her legs around his waist, locking her feet together; he understands what she’s trying to do so he lowers his hips, his bulge finding her center, slowly grinding against it.

They find a rhythm that’s pleasing but not _enough_ , not yet; still, they stay there, rocking against each other, hands and mouths roaming through every bit of naked skin they could reach. It feels wonderful, to be free of touching and kissing and exploring her without any repercussions or doubts, but in his mind there are still countless fears about what this could mean for him, for her, for _them_. He doesn’t know where this will take them or what it’ll mean later on, and though it’s slightly overwhelming, the taste of her skin and the feel of her body under his hands are enough to put his fears on the back burner, at least temporarily.

After a few moments, her hand starts moving to his lower abdomen, her fingers searching for the button of his jeans. He looks at her, questioning, but she doesn’t say anything, just shrugs and starts undoing the button and unzipping his pants.

“You’re gonna have to help me take these off,” she admits, and he complies immediately. As he takes his pants off, she goes to take off her own and he’s mesmerized by the sight. Her legs, long and pale and delicately scarred, open just for him, the only piece of clothing on her now being her white panties that are visibly damp. She props herself up on both arms so her torso is fully visible and looks at him with dark, wanting eyes.

This is when he realizes he’s standing in front of her only in his underwear, his bulge right in her line of vision, and he could feel self-conscious but when she’s almost completely naked in front of him, he can’t think about anything else but her.

“Come here,” she says, voice thick, and flexes her index finger twice, then points at her underwear. “Come here and take these off.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He all but launches himself at her, hands grabbing the waistband of her underwear and pulling it down in one fast, swift motion, leaving her completely uncovered. And, not for the first time and definitely _not_ for the last time, he’s rendered absolutely speechless by how absolutely stunning she is.

He traces all of her curves and all of her scars and all of her body with his fingertips, and later with his lips; his new mission is to memorize her body just by touch, to learn all of her sensitive places, to be the one who knows how to elicit the best reactions from her. She writhes under his touch, making noises that range from small gasps to loud moans, her hands grasping at his shoulders and back in a way that surely will leave marks. He’s so enthralled by her that he barely notices one of her hands tracing his spine, and he only realizes she’s moving when one of her fingers tugs at the elastic band of his boxers. He looks at her, eyebrows arched.

“Will you let me…?” She leaves her question unfinished, but her finger is now tracing circles on the skin of his lower back. He nods, and she doesn’t waste any time, her free hand immediately going to his underwear and pulling it down, setting his erection free. Once his boxers are discarded on the floor, her attention goes back to his crotch, and her eyes widen. He can’t help but blush. She doesn’t say anything, instead licks her lips and, in a smooth motion, flips both of them over so he’s now lying in his back and she’s on top of him, straddling him. He’s breathless.

She lowers her torso so it’s lined up against his, and leans her forehead against his own, while her fingers trace his jaw, tenderly, in a way that reminds him of their first kiss. He thinks, for a second, of how much things remain the same between them since that moment but, at the same time, how much things have changed, and he can’t help but laugh. Jemma’s eyes crinkle, and a dubious smile appears on her lips.

“What?” she asks, amused, and he laughs again.

“Nothing,” he replies; there will be a time when they get to have that conversation, he knows, but this is not it. When she looks like she’s about to ask him again, he kisses her, and she kisses him back enthusiastically, rolling her hips against him and making them both moan into each other’s mouths.

They settle into this new rhythm, grinding against each other, the friction driving them both crazy. They stay like that for a while, until the heat and the pressure starts to build up and Jemma stops suddenly. Fitz can’t help but whine.

“Why did you stop?” he asks her, and she laughs, pecks him on the lips once.

“Because I’m very close,” she explains, “and I want you inside me.” He feels the blood draining from his body and going straight to his cock. There’s still a problem, though.

“Jemma, I don’t have any condoms,” he says, trying not to sound as disappointed as he feels. She rolls her eyes.

“IUD, remember? You went with me to that doctor’s appointment?” she reminds him, and it’s so surreal to think about that moment, how it feels like it was centuries ago and yet, right now, it feels like it was the most defining moment of his life. He lets out a breath.

“Oh thank God,” he whispers. Then looks at her again. “So should we…?” he asks, motioning to their current position.

“No,” she says, “like this. I wanna ride you.”

He’s at a loss for words, and he’s certain that if he tried to say something right now he would only be able to utter nonsense so he nods, and she starts to position herself on top of him so they’re both comfortable.

He wants to enjoy this moment, and he’s sure that in a few seconds he _will_ , but right now he’s scared. He knows that, once they do this, there is no going back, no backtracking. They have to face this now, whatever they’re becoming in this very moment, whatever this makes them. And he’s not sure just yet if they’ll be able to handle the new shift in their relationship, given how bad they’ve been at dealing with change, so he’s scared. Because in the end, he could live without this, without the physical or romantic aspect of their relationship, if it meant not losing her completely. He can’t lose her again.

He needs to tell her. If this is happening, if they’re changing, then he needs to tell her.

Once she’s accommodated, he looks at her in the eyes, trying to communicate how serious he is about what he’s about to say.

“Jemma,” he says. “There’s no going back from this. You know that, right? I can’t go back from this.”

“I don’t want you to,” she admits in a small voice, avoiding his eyes. “I know there’s no going back but I don’t _want_ to go back. I want this. I want _you_.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, then, because he needs to be sure this is what she wants, even though she has given absolutely no indication otherwise.

“I am positive,” she nods. “This is what I want. Unless you don’t want to…” she says, trying to hide the fear in her voice, and he shakes his head.

“No, no,” he replies, “I want to. I want this so much, so much, but not if it means I’ll lose you when it’s all over. I can’t lose you.”

Then, surprisingly, she giggles, and leans her forehead against his.

“Silly Fitz,” she says, in the most tender voice he’s ever heard from her before, “you’re not gonna lose me.”

He kisses her then because he doesn’t know what to say, but the way she says that makes him believe it.

They kiss for a while, intimately, and then she breaks the kiss. He only realizes what it means, however, when she smirks. He grabs her waist, to give her some stability, and she closes her eyes and starts lowering herself onto him, slowly.

His nails dig into the skin of her waist, the feeling of her heat around him is almost too much to bear but it also feels absolutely fantastic. A low groan escapes from his lips at the same time she moans, her hands clutching tightly onto his chest. When he’s completely inside her, they remain motionless for a few seconds, and then she rolls her hips.

They start moving in sync, as together as they can possibly be, almost fused into one being. He’s not much of a believer, but this moment right now is probably the closest he will ever get to a religious experience. It’s not just the fact that he’s imagined this moment countless times, though that certainly helps; it’s how well they fit together, like their bodies were created specifically so they could make love, like they were made from the same energy, the same atoms, like they were so lost in one another that, if someone were to find them right now, they would never know where one ends and the other begins. It’s the fact that this woman, his best friend and love of his life and soulmate, is right here, and after everything they’ve been through, just for this moment they’re on the same wavelength and nothing else matters, not their pasts and not their futures. She’s his present. She’s him.

After a while, their movements start to become more and more erratic, faster, more frantic, the sweat is dripping off their foreheads, the noises they’re making start to become louder. He knows he’s very close, but the way she’s starting to clench around him tells him she’s close, too.

She throws her head back, finally, and moans, nonsensical words coming out of her mouth, and that’s what sends him over the edge: the sight of her in the middle of her climax. He’s still holding her, and he can’t help but scratch her waist as his orgasm finally hits him, too.

He swears, in that moment, he sees stars.

 -o-

 They lie together on her bed, legs tangled together, her head on his chest so she can feel his heartbeat. He’s mindlessly playing with her hair, and she’s drawing circles with her thumb on his ribcage, when something occurs to him.

“I hope we didn’t make a mess,” he mutters. She looks at him.

“Well, this bed is very messy,” she tries, and he smiles.

“That’s not what I meant. I mean… I hope we didn’t mess this up. _Us_ ,” he confesses, and she shifts her position so she’s propped up on one elbow, her face inches away from his.

“Let me ask you something,” she starts. “Did it feel right? When we were making love, did it feel right to you?”

“Yes,” he says, not a doubt. “It felt more right than anything else has ever felt before.”

“Then stop worrying. This is right, _we_ are right. We didn’t make a mess,” she says, and kisses him. When she breaks the kiss, she smiles at him. “We’re gonna be okay.”

There are still countless doubts and fears in his mind, and he knows there’s still a long way to go before they can be completely okay again, but in that moment, with her lying next to him, he believes her. He knows they will be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is. I don't even know why I'm posting this. Just..... No.   
> Anyway, this was heavily inspired by the songs Numbers, by Daughter (which is also where the title comes from), and I Miss You, by Adele. Please listen to those songs. Please _love_ those songs.  
>  Thanks to Jen for betaing! (And thanks to the squad for voting in that poll. Y'all know who you are.)


End file.
